


Burning Woods

by LysseC



Series: Showing Guts [1]
Category: Naruto
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-05
Updated: 2014-09-05
Packaged: 2018-02-16 06:21:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,021
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2259234
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LysseC/pseuds/LysseC
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"I find it strangely fitting, you know. Me being blessed with katon, and you with mokuton."<br/>As he reaches the clearing at the end of the path, Madara reflects on his life and role in the history of shinobi.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Burning Woods

**Author's Note:**

> Written for HashiMada Mini-Bang!!! on Tumblr, prompt: Mokuton&Katon.  
> I wrote this a month ago, and I’m posting it now with little to no revision after then (the wonders of having little to no internet for a month and yet wanting to do something for the Mini-Bang), so I have no idea if something in the latest Naruto chapters patently contradict it.
> 
> First time trying myself in this fandom and with this ship. I hope I managed to leave the characters at least a little IC. Please R&R, I greatly need the criticism. Not beta-ed.
> 
> Lyrics from Come Healing by Leonard Cohen.

_Behold the gates of mercy_

_In arbitrary space_

_And none of us deserving_

_The cruelty or the grace_

_Oh solitude of longing_

_Where love has been confined_

_Come healing of the body_

_Come healing of the mind_

  

 

“I find it strangely fitting, you know. Me being blessed with katon, and you with mokuton.”

You start talking before even coming out of the shadows of the trees to the sunlight-kissed opening. You don’t really need your eyes to leave the crystalline dance of the waters streaming down the river. You know perfectly well that _he_ is on the other side. You move your gaze on him nonetheless, and he catches you by surprise -as he did the first time he spoke to you, as he did the first time he kissed you, as he did the time he killed you, and, if you’re really honest with yourself, as he did everytime the two of you interacted.

His appearance is that of the child you met on this river too many years ago, too many lifetimes ago. The sight sends a bolt of pain through your chest and for a moment you falter in your step and avert your gaze again, because _this_ is something you haven’t allowed yourself to remember for a long time. Because _this_ , this boy, the best friend of your childhood, has been dead in your eyes since that fateful day on the riverbank. You paid the price of your Sharingan eyes with his memory if not his life.

He probably notices your hesitation, because the moment you go back to looking at him, you see his adult self again.

You swallow and force yourself to go on.

“Mokuton is the art of building. You were the one to build and heal. A village, a nation. A safe haven.”

The words come out of your mouth eerily, and at the same time too easily, as if you have rehearsed them countless times before. And perhaps you _have_ , between the silent walls of the cavern that became your stage and tomb, with the growing legions of white Zetsus as the only spectators to this strange monologue you refused to recite even to yourself.

“But katon... Katon is the art of wastelands. All fire can do is burn. It is wild, untameable. It cannot heal. It cannot save. It can’t protect, it only destroys. It couldn’t protect my brothers, it couldn’t save Izuna.”

You both know what’s left hanging in the air.

_Your Healing Technique could have._

You have reached the riverbank. The water dances at your feet, to the rhythm of its own song.

“I tried. Finding my own way, my personal mokuton.”

You see droplets of water fall on your feet. Whether it’s the river or your tears you don’t know. It doesn’t really matter anymore.

“...I failed.”

It’s barely a whisper, carried away by the wind, but you know he has heard it, as loud and clear as if you shouted it for the whole world to hear.

“I had known it from the beginning. I just... decided to ignore it. I thought this time, with the Rikodou’s power, it would be strong enough. But I was wrong.”

Tears flow freely now, down your cheeks, down your chin, to fall on your fisted hand.

“Infinite Tsukyiomi... It was just genjutsu. And genjutsu... genjutsu can only go so far. Like this one. I can _feel_ it, on my own skin. It’s _weightless_. Impalpable. Like fire. The flesh, the rocks, the wind... everything. It’s not... _thick._ It’s not like wood. It’s fake. An hypnotism. As refined as it could be, yes, but an hypnotism nonetheless. A perfect illusion written in flames.”

He hasn’t moved since you brought him here, in this genjutsu version of _that place_ , the only place where you can really open your heart to him. He moves now, when the walls of this last illusion start crumbling around you, going in and out of phase as your energy slowly wears away.

 _Not yet_ , you think, _not_ yet _. I need some more time._ To show him your guts, to see if you can _reach the other side_ , one last time before death forces you to finally pay your toll.

Hashirama walks across the river to stand in front of you, and his tanned hands come to cover yours. As he gently pries your fingers open, he finally talks.

“Did you know that in some regions of the world, people periodically burn down their fields, after a crop?”

He rests his forehead on yours, and your nostrils are suddenly filled with the debris of his Edo Tensei body.

“A burned forest is reborn again from its ashes, stronger than before.”

You didn't expect him to catch up so quickly with your symbolism. Nor did you expect him to find any kind of justification to your actions. It seems he can't help but surprise you more and more, even now that you are so close to the end.

“...Is that what I was? A fire that destroyed, to make the soil more fertile?”

The air now smells of blood and metal, but you can still hear the river behind you, and all your eyes can see are Hashirama’s chocolate ones, and his full lips curved in a warm, loving smile.

His hands close on yours, and yours close on a small, round pebble.

“Time to go.”, he says as his Edo Tensei body starts crumbling apart.

There is still time for you to use your last remaining strengths to lift yourself up from the place where you have fallen after the battle, and caress his lips with yours.

It tastes of blood and tears and sweat and dirt, of fire and wood and just _Hashirama_ , and it doesn’t matter if the whole Shinobi Alliance is watching you, murmuring, commenting, disbelieving their own eyes, for all you can see is a riverbank, and a gigantic grin on the face of a small child, not yet in his teens.

“Let’s skip stones.”

 

_Oh see the darkness yelding_

_That tore the light apart_

_Come healing of the reason_

_Come healing of the heart_


End file.
